


Reckoning

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avalanche, Cloud is a BAMF, Enemies to ???, M/M, Sefikura, The Heartless Angel, Turk!Tifa, an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, the only one where Cloud and Zack are not bffs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 07:01:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20774465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: When Cloud was sixteen and dreaming of becoming a SOLDIER, AVALANCHE blew up the Nibelheim reactor, scorching away any dark secrets that might be hidden inside.Shinra responded by sending two SOLDIERs to burn down the nearest town, just to send a message. Cloud Strife watched his hero set fire to the only home he’d ever known and vowed that someday, he would get his revenge.He spent most of the next five years in a mako tank as a willing test subject for a renegade Shinra scientist. Hollander had learned from his experiments in Banora and his time working by Hojo’s side. He was determined to get it right this time.At twenty-one, Cloud infiltrated the SOLDIER Program, hiding the extent of his enhancements to look like an average new recruit.He should have known Sephiroth would see right through him.~An AU fic featuring: Cloud Strife as the stoic hero with nothing to lose, Tifa Lockhart as the spy who fell in love, and Barret Wallace as the fearless revolutionary. Starring Sephiroth as himself.~





	1. prologue: be still my (beating) heart

**Reckoning**

**prologue: be still my (beating) heart**

_-There's no gettin off this train we're on-_

Barret had some reservations about letting two sixteen year olds come to an AVALANCHE meeting. They were still just kids, after all. He didn’t want to get some youngsters tangled up in the mess he was making--never mind that at twenty-two, he wasn’t that far past being a kid himself.

And anyway, they didn’t act like kids. They’d lost everything to the Shinra, same as Barret. And hell, it was their planet too. They had even more of a stake in it than most.

So he let them come. It was a small meeting, just the core group—Biggs, Wedge, Jessie, and a few others. But it was an important one. Barret had finally made contact with a Shinra scientist who had just defected.

Hollander wasn’t much to look at, unshaven with stains on his baggy T shirt, slouched and perpetually whining. But he hated the Shinra as much as anyone, and Barret was pretty sure he was on their side, for now, if only because they had a mutual interest in Shinra’s downfall. 

“The problem is Sephiroth,” Hollander said to the group, standing in front of the small collection of chairs in the basement beneath the bar, his ratty lab coat flaring as he paced. 

Barret silently disagreed. Sephiroth was _ a _ problem, sure, but he was not _ the _problem. He was just a highly visual symptom of the rot beneath.

“And how do you fight Sephiroth?” Hollander asked the group. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You don’t,” he crowed. “You can’t. No one alive can fight Sephiroth.” 

“You didn’t have to come here to tell us that,” Biggs said. “We know it already.” 

“I came here to tell you I have a solution,” Hollander said grandly, waiting for a moment to let his pronouncement sink in. He was met with skeptical glances, but continued anyway. “I worked alongside Professor Hojo for many years. I have gained his trust as much as possible. And before I left Shinra, I carefully copied his notes and records pertaining to Sephiroth.” 

Barret had to admit, that was impressive. Shinra’s security measures regarding their intellectual property were beyond stringent. 

“The only way to beat Sephiroth is with a sword,” Hollander continued. “He can’t be poisoned, he’s not likely to ever catch any disease, and he’s much more durable than the average human. However, if he were to be defeated and killed, it would take all the wind right out of Shinra’s sails.” 

“So what?” Barret said. “You already said that’s impossible.” 

Hollander took a step back and grinned. It made him look a little unhinged. “I said no one was capable of defeating him. Yet. But I know how Hojo created him. I can make the SOLDIER who will stop him. All I need is an experimental subject. The younger, the better. I assume you can procure one for me?”

“The hell we will,” Barret said, crossing his arms. He wasn’t wearing his gun tonight, but rather a metal prosthetic that vaguely resembled a human hand. “We ain’t the fuckin Shinra. We don’t treat people like lab rats.” 

“That’s right,” Jessie said, fire in her eyes. “We would never hand over some kid for you to put through who knows what kind of--”

“I’ll do it.” A quiet but firm voice from the back of the room cut through the chatter. The damned kid from Nibelheim--the boy--was watching them with haunted eyes, his back straight and his gaze steady. 

“Cloud…” The girl tugged at his hand and said something else, too softly for Barret to overhear. But Cloud was not deterred. 

“Sephiroth destroyed our home,” he told them. His voice was calm and toneless, but his eyes burned with rage. “I’m gonna make him pay.” 

“They burned our whole town to the ground,” the girl explained. “We did nothing to Shinra, but they destroyed us anyway.” 

“Sephiroth set the fires.” The boy’s right hand clenched like he was reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. “I saw him.” 

“We made a promise to take Shinra down. Whatever it takes.” The girl looked straight at Barret, her dark eyes as deep and beautiful as anything he’d ever seen. “We’re with you until the end of the line.”

His heart gave a lurch like it wanted to jump right out of his chest and get straight to her. But he just nodded. “Let’s make it happen,” he said.


	2. you are (not) indifferent

**02\. you are (not) indifferent**

Sephiroth stood at the edge of the training hall, watching the SOLDIER Thirds spar with mild indifference. They were uniformly mediocre, and this was a ridiculous waste of his time, but the powers at Shinra had decided that there was a dire need for more Firsts in the SOLDIER program. Sephiroth wasn’t sure why—there was no war on, and he, Genesis, and Angeal were sufficiently powerful to deal with any threat short of an entire army. 

Either they wanted to have a convincing show of force for some negotiation, or Shinra was preparing to go to war again. Sephiroth hoped it was the latter. While he harbored no ill will towards any of Shinra’s many enemies, he was tired of being a warrior with no worthy opponents. Fighting dragons wasn’t really the same as facing off against a cunning general on the battlefield. 

In short, he was bored, which was why he was here. That, and he had been given an order. He and Genesis were to each mentor a student, with the hope of fast-tracking that SOLDIER towards the higher ranks. Angeal of course already had his student, but had been strongly encouraged to take a second. 

Unfortunately for Sephiroth, this batch of SOLDIER Thirds seemed to be devoid of genuine talent. 

“Late again, Strife?” The instructor’s sharp, annoyed voice cut through the crowd, and Sephiroth turned to see a SOLDIER stepping into the room, his spiky blond hair disheveled as though he’d just woken up. “And your uniform is out of compliance.” 

It was true, Sephiroth noticed with some annoyance. The SOLDIER was wearing only one pauldron, which had cracked down the middle and looked as though it had been hand-repaired with a couple of bolts. 

“Sorry,” Strife mumbled, looking anything but. 

“Drop and give me fifty,” the instructor barked. “And make it good. We have a guest.” 

Sephiroth was used to the way people looked at him by now—with fear or reverence or respect. He was not used to the way the SOLDIER looked at him, utterly unimpressed and perhaps even a little annoyed that Sephiroth chose such an inconvenient morning to make his presence felt. 

Strife made fifty push ups seem effortless, and when he was finished, he hopped to his feet, looking much more awake and invigorated. Maybe when you’re that small, push ups aren’t as difficult, Sephiroth thought. 

“Okay,” the instructor said, retrieving a longsword from the rack of wooden practice weapons on the wall. “Strife, since you’re late I guess you’re with me today.” 

Sephiroth would have chosen a katana for the diminutive SOLDIER, or a dagger. But the SOLDIER picked up a wide, tall broadsword and held it in both hands, testing the heft. 

“A broadsword?” Sephiroth said softly to the instructor. He wasn’t usually one to jump into someone else’s training session, but above all else he hated seeing a thing done badly, and the instructor had clearly guided this student in the wrong direction. “Surely that’s not the best fit for someone of his build.”

Strife met his eyes across the room, and there was something else there, a hardness that only came from years of suffering beyond which should be possible for someone so young. He twirled the wooden broadsword in one hand in a confident, almost cocky, move. 

“Isn’t your sword taller than you are, sir?” Strife asked.

Sephiroth held back a laugh. It was a fair point, though that broadsword was going to cause problems for that SOLDIER whether he was witty or not. 

“Come on, Strife,” the instructor said, stepping out onto the floor. “Let’s just get this over with.” 

As Sephiroth watched them spar, he grew more and more intrigued. It wasn’t that Strife won—he didn’t. He fought at about the level one would expect from a mediocre Third. But something was off...

“Come with me, Strife,” Sephiroth said, as soon as the duel had finished, not waiting for the instructor to give Strife feedback about his mediocre performance. 

“Yes, sir,” Strife said, but the way he said it made it sound more like a surly teenager muttering “whatever” than someone acquiescing to orders. 

Sephiroth took him to the VR room—the nice one that was restricted to the higher levels—and found a broadsword for him to use in the collection of weapons there. Strife was very good at not asking questions, and maintained a sullen silence as Sephiroth launched the Junon Cannon simulation. 

He stood at the end of the cannon, holding his broadsword in one hand as though all that steel weighed nothing at all, and looked at Sephiroth wearily. 

Sephiroth held out his hand and let the Masamune materialize. As the sword came into being, he caught a very slight spark of awe on Strife’s face—one that was quickly stamped out by a strange loathing when his eyes landed on the Masamune’s dark steel. 

“I am going to kill you,” Sephiroth said. 

Strife blinked at him. 

“I am going to kill you unless you can stop me,” Sephiroth said. And before Strife could ask another question, he attacked. Not with everything he had, but enough to make it convincing. And it worked. 

As soon as their blades touched the first time, Strife launched into the duel with everything Sephiroth suspected he had been hiding. His footwork was flawless, his swings perfectly timed, and he drove the blade down with enough force that Sephiroth’s left hand trembled slightly with the impact. He was acrobatic and relentless, his compact form backflipping and leaping around to attack from every angle. 

He was good. Better than a SOLDIER Third had any right to be. 

“Enough,” Sephiroth said, lowering his blade. Strife still held his aloft, breathing hard with cold fury in his eyes. For a moment Sephiroth thought he might go in for the kill, but then he stepped back, pushing his blond spikes out of his face. 

“That’s what you wanted?” Strife asked. 

“What I want is a student,” Sephiroth said. “What you need is a teacher, and there is probably not anyone else who can teach you much more than you already know.” 

Strife looked up at him, his jaw set and his eyes hard. “Is that an order, sir?” 

“It’s an offer,” Sephiroth said, though he couldn’t fathom any reason why someone would refuse. “An opportunity to be better than you are.”

“Not interested,” Strife said. 

Sephiroth had never met anyone who was so utterly unimpressed by him, but he had to admit, he rather liked it. 

#

Cloud casually wandered down the hallway on the forty-third floor of Shinra Tower, swiping his keycard to slip inside the conference room at the end of the floor that was permanently marked as “out of order” because the recording devices inside were broken. 

“Thank Shiva,” Tifa said, breathing out a long sigh of relief as she got to her feet. Her dark suit was slightly wrinkled, but she wore it with the same confidence and ease any Turk would have. “When you walked off with Sephiroth I thought the worst.” 

“It’s nothing like that.” Cloud shook his head, still wondering about the strange encounter. “He wants to mentor me.” 

“Cloud, that’s great!” Tifa gave him a warm smile, grabbing his arms. “This is the break we need.” 

Cloud looked away sheepishly. “I told him no.” 

She blinked at him, puzzled. “You what?” 

“I told him I wasn’t interested.”

She sighed, softly. “I know this is hard for you, Cloud. You’re not an actor. But you volunteered for this job. If you see an opportunity like that…”

Cloud shrugged, but he did feel a little guilty. “I’ll try not to fuck up the next one.” 

She smiled and put her arms around him, squeezing tight. He wasn’t sure how she had learned to be so openly affectionate, but he liked it, even though he was shit at reciprocating it. 

“You’re doing great,” she said. “We all believe in you.” 

Cloud nodded. He knew he had AVALANCHE’s support--after all, they’d provided the resources for Hollander to spend five years enhancing him so he could infiltrate the SOLDIER Program and break it down from the inside. 

He tried not to think about the task too much. It was daunting, even with Tifa by his side, infiltrating the Turks in much the same way. Her job was much more dangerous--Turks were better at sniffing out spies than SOLDIERs by definition--but she was also much better at fitting in. 

Cloud hoped Sephiroth wouldn’t figure him out. He wasn’t ready to fight him yet. But someday he would be. 

Someday Sephiroth would pay for all the evil he’d done. Cloud would see to it. 


	3. you can (not) resist

**03\. you can (not) resist**

_~A good soldier never turns down a mission~  
_

Tifa was being unfair, Cloud thought as he stood at attention in Heidegger’s office, waiting for the Shinra executive to finish up his meeting with Reeve Tuesti. Cloud had done  _ everything  _ AVALANCHE had asked of him since he raised his hand in a meeting five years ago and offered himself up for Hollander’s experiments. 

But Sephiroth was the man who had burned Nibelheim. Couldn’t Tifa--and AVALANCHE--understand how that was different? 

“Any word on those sewer rats--what do they call themselves? AVALANCHE?” Heidegger scowled. “Intel suggests they’re working in Sector 7.” 

Reeve glanced uneasily at Cloud, but answered anyway. He was not so good at hiding his sympathies, and Cloud wasn’t sure how no one had caught on yet. Reeve might not be a member of AVALANCHE, but he certainly wasn’t their enemy either. 

“They were,” Reeve said. “We’re pretty sure they were, but that was easily a month ago. They’ve moved on by now.” 

Heidegger harrumphed, rubbing his chin. “Very well. You’ll keep me updated, Reeve?” 

“I will,” Reeve said, and quickly took his leave. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Cloud asked. 

Heidegger nodded, sinking into the cushy leather sofa in the corner of the office, which was as large as the apartment Cloud and Tifa had shared as teenagers, and opulently furnished. “Get me a drink, boy,” he said. 

“Yes, sir,” Cloud said. He knew by now where Heidegger kept the whiskey. 

“They tell me you fought Sephiroth today,” Heidegger said, as Cloud poured the tumbler half full of the amber liquid. Cloud was a little surprised word had traveled so far. Heidegger might be in charge of the SOLDIER program, but he left its operation mostly up to Sephiroth. 

“I did my best, sir,” Cloud said, handing Heidegger the glass. 

“I’m sure you did.” Heidegger took a sip, then set the glass aside and tugged Cloud down into his lap. 

Cloud moved pliantly as Heidegger’s large hands guided him, his gaze downcast and meek. He knew what Heidegger liked. 

“How did someone as pretty as you get into SOLDIER?” Heidegger asked. Cloud didn’t answer--he knew Heidegger wasn’t actually looking for a conversation, just ways to convince himself that in this encounter, he was the stronger man. 

When Heidegger pushed him down on the couch, pressing him into the cushions with the heft of his body, Cloud almost forgot his own great strength. It felt like he was being restrained, even though he could have fought his way free in an instant. 

_ This is for AVALANCHE,  _ he told himself.  _ Just lie back and think of the Planet.  _

But it was never that simple. 

#

The next morning was as dark as any in Midgar, Cloud’s alarm blaring at 5:45. He dragged himself out of bed and dressed, then hurried down the long hallway to the training room. 

“What are you doing here, Strife?” The instructor glared at him furiously as he entered. Cloud wondered what he’d done to piss him off, since he was actually on time for once. “Didn’t you get your orders?” 

“Orders?” Cloud blinked at him blearily. There was a lot he hated about the SOLDIER program, but the fact that they started training at six in the morning was close to the top of the list. 

“Check your PHS,” the instructor said, in a tone that implied all his patience had run out a long time ago. “And get the hell out of here.” 

Cloud shrugged--he didn’t love that routine anyway--and wandered into the hallway to check his phone. There was a single message from the automated system that sent out orders. It had a brand new schedule for him that included only room numbers and times. 

Today he was supposed to report to the 71st floor at 5:30 am. 

“Huh?” He frowned at it. He thought Shinra Tower only had seventy floors. And he didn’t have authorization to access above floor sixty two. 

It was probably a test of some sort, one he was intended to fail. 

_ Well fuck that.  _

It took him another half hour to get up to level seventy, stealing keycards and sneaking around corners. In the stairwell beside the President’s office, he found a metal door that led to another staircase winding precariously upward. Triumphantly, he climbed it and strode out the door at the end. 

He was on the roof. 

He was on the fucking roof of Shinra Tower, seventy stories above the Plate, the sky dark and foreboding above him and the ground very, very far away. 

“You’re late.” 

He glanced wildly around, and finally spotted Sephiroth, who was standing on the two foot high concrete divider that separated the surface of the roof from the drop behind, his hair blowing slightly in the gentle breeze. The air seemed less smoggy up here, more breathable, and the city was almost pretty, glittering yellow lights spread behind him. 

“What the hell is this?” Cloud asked, scowling. 

Sephiroth raised a sliver eyebrow. 

“What the hell is this,  _ sir _ ?” Cloud said, pouring all the sarcasm he could into that final word. 

“Do you think you can knock me off this ledge?” Sephiroth asked, and in a flash, the Masamune was in his hand, a long, shining curve of light. 

Cloud glanced at him, then at the empty space just past him, and shrugged.

“Try.” 

Cloud didn’t have to be told twice. What the hell, maybe he’d even succeed. 

He should have known better. Sephiroth could take the full force of his downward swing with only a single hand holding the Masamune, while standing on a ledge above a seventy story drop. He made it look effortless. And he told Cloud to try again and again until he was sweaty and panting for breath. 

“I suggest you pay better attention,” Sephiroth said, when he finally let Cloud quit. “If you carry on like this, you’ll never be able to kill me.”

Cloud blinked at him, feeling a stab of icy fear. “What?” 

“It’s been a long time since anyone has made a credible attempt to assassinate me.” Sephiroth sounded almost wistful. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re up to the task.” 

“I’m not--”

“A terrorist?” Sephiroth glanced at him, and Cloud felt like that green-eyed gaze cut right down to his bones. “A member of AVALANCHE? A spy inside my very own SOLDIER program?” 

Cloud raised his sword again, gripping it hard. He wouldn’t go down without a fight. 

“You can relax,” Sephiroth said, waving his hand. “If you tried to kill me right now I might die of boredom. You may as well let me train you first.” 

“You...want me to kill you?” Cloud asked, blinking in confusion. 

“I want you to try,” Sephiroth said. It sounded like he meant it. “But if you’re trying to kill me, or anyone, brute force will only get you so far. You need to learn a little finesse. I can help you.” 

“Fuck you,” Cloud muttered. But then he thought--why the hell not? If Sephiroth was going to help him get stronger, he’d be an idiot to turn down his chance. Sephiroth was obviously underestimating him--and that would be his downfall. 

“Excuse me?” Sephiroth’s arms were crossed, his eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Cloud raised his head and took a deep breath. “Fuck you, sir.” 

Sephiroth smiled. The slow display of teeth made Cloud feel like prey facing a predator’s jaws. “That’s better. Tomorrow I expect you to be on time.”


	4. you will (d)evolve

  1. ** you will (d)evolve**

_ ~Would you like to be my guinea pig?~ _

Cloud made a habit of being late. It was a passive aggressive way to piss off whatever Shinra asshole was currently demanding his time. But he was never late to the labs. He knew better than to try that kind of shit with Shinra scientists. He’d heard the stories from Hollander during the delirious five years he’d spent being enhanced in the renegade scientist’s dingy lab. Who knew what they might pump into Cloud’s veins, given the inclination? 

Today he’d been summoned to see Hojo, and ever since he’d gotten the notice he’d been simmering with anxiety. He usually saw a different doctor for his mako enhancements, one who had been blackmailed into turning a blind eye to his unique physiology. But Hojo would be able to figure out the truth whether Cloud admitted it or not. 

When Cloud stepped through the hissing doorway into Hojo’s lab, the scientist was standing on the other side of the glass facing an odd gelatinous mass of a monster. It was glowing an eerie mako blue. 

“Curious,” Hojo muttered. “Very curious.” 

Cloud decided it was best not to ask. “I’m here, Professor,” he said. 

“You must be Strife.” Hojo turned to study him through those thick round glasses. “Good. Good. Take off your shirt and sit on the table, if you would.” 

It was phrased like a request, but Cloud knew it was an order. He complied quickly, the lab air chilly on his skin. 

“It has come to my attention that there is something _ peculiar _about you,” Hojo said. Cloud felt a jolt of adrenaline spike through his heart. “You’ve been enhanced already.” 

“I…” Cloud wasn’t sure how to deny it. 

“Hmm.” Hojo grabbed Cloud’s chin and stared into his eyes, probably noting all kinds of things about their luminescence. “Who did this to you?” 

Just then, the lab doors hissed open again, and Cloud turned wildly to see Sephiroth step through. 

“You’re right,” Hojo said to Sephiroth, as though Cloud wasn’t even in the room. “Someone has been enhancing him.” 

“I thought so.” Sephiroth’s eyes swept over them both, darkly amused. “Can you work with it? I want him to be stronger.” 

“Of course I can work with it,” Hojo muttered, pulling open a nearby cabinet and rummaging through the labeled canisters within. “Who do you think I am, Hollander?” 

“Wait,” Cloud said, crossing his arms over his bare chest, which felt very exposed to the two dangerous psychopaths in the room. “What are you going to do?” 

“Can you hold him down?” Hojo asked, drawing some of a strange, silvery liquid up into a syringe. 

“What the fuck?” Cloud asked, jerking away as Sephiroth approached. “What the hell is that?” 

“You want to be stronger, don’t you?” Sephiroth asked, his tone calm and sensible as he reached for Cloud. “I went through this when I was eight years old. I think you can handle it, little snowflake.” 

“Don’t fuckin call me that,” Cloud growled, struggling to get away from Sephiroth’s relentless grip. “Let me go!” 

Sephiroth restrained him easily, one arm capturing Cloud’s wrists while the other pushed down on his chest, pressing him to the cold metal table. Cloud gasped in shock and surprise at the feel of a needle entering his chest just above his heart. It didn’t hurt at first, and then it hurt a lot. It felt like fire had been poured directly into his heart and was being pumped into all of his veins. He went limp in Sephiroth’s grasp, his arms and legs trembling helplessly. 

Finally, he slipped into blessed unconsciousness. 

#

Sephiroth had been training Cloud for about two weeks, but for some reason it felt like they had known each other for much longer. Maybe it was because Cloud’s hate and rage made him something of a kindred spirit. Sephiroth, after all, knew both emotions intimately. Sometimes it seemed they were the only ones he knew. 

“Is he okay?” Sephiroth asked Hojo, hovering over Cloud where he lay unconscious on the bright metal table. Sephiroth had been given similar injections many times as a child, and he’d never lost consciousness. 

Hojo pressed the metal disc of his stethoscope to Cloud’s chest, listening first to his heart, then the rise and fall of his breathing. “He’s fine. You have to remember that your mother gave you an affinity for these treatments. He doesn’t have the same protections.” 

“Jenova,” Sephiroth said, softly. He liked to say her name, and rarely had the opportunity to. He had spent his whole life looking forward to the moment when he would find her. But five years ago, he came back from a mission in the Nibel mountains to find Hojo in mourning. _ Jenova is dead _ , Hojo had told him, nearly distraught. _ There is nothing left of her. _

He never did tell Sephiroth how she died, or even where she had lived. Sephiroth didn’t even know what she looked like, though when he glanced in the mirror at his own features, he often wondered if some of them were echoes of hers. 

“Yes,” Hojo said. “Jenova.” The sorrow in his voice was still jarring, after all these years. Before Jenova’s death, Sephiroth would have said Hojo had never cared for another person. But he clearly missed her, or at least what she represented to him--potential for discovery and change. 

_ Your mother is a catalyst, _ Hojo would tell him, like a bedtime story. _ When the ingredients are right, she is the reckless agent of change. _

Sephiroth never knew what that meant, but he had never forgotten it. He held tight to every trace of her he was given, like a starving child clutching at scraps of food, thoughtlessly discarded. 

“Do you know who enhanced him or what kinds of treatments he was given?” Hojo asked, studying Strife, who was still out cold. 

Sephiroth shook his head. “I’ll ask.” 

“Make sure you get a comprehensive account if you don’t want him damaged,” Hojo said. 

Sephiroth glanced at Hojo. “I would like him intact.” 

Hojo pressed his fingers--clad in a white latex glove--to Strife’s chin, holding his head still while Hojo’s other hand pulled up gently on one eyelid. He leaned in to examine the faint glow of Strife’s eyes.

“Very well,” Hojo said, releasing his patient. “I will take care not to do any lasting harm.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” Even as he spoke to Hojo, Sephiroth kept listening to the soft sound of Cloud’s breath. He wanted to be sure no harm came to Cloud--not yet, anyway. When Cloud was strong enough to fight him, Sephiroth would hold nothing back. But for now, he would do his best to make sure Cloud survived. 

“You have a good eye for potential,” Hojo said. “There is much I can accomplish with his physiology. Keep him on a short leash, if you can.”

“I will.” Sephiroth went to the table and lifted Cloud as easily as a child, tossing the limp body over his shoulder. “Thank you, Hojo.” 

Hojo nodded his acknowledgement and turned to the many piles of paper scattered across his desk.

Sephiroth’s office, along with the other SOLDIER Firsts’, were only three floors below Hojo’s lab. It was trivial to carry Cloud down the stairs and across the wide lobby. There was no sofa or even an extra chair in Sephiroth’s austere office--he preferred visitors not sit down, as it kept their visits brief--so he laid Cloud down on his long desk. Cloud’s body was limp, but his breathing was steady and even, fogging up a small section of the desk’s glass top. 

Sephiroth sat down in his chair, pulling out the copy of Cloud’s file he’d hidden beneath the false bottom of a desk drawer. The notations he’d made on it were in his own shorthand, but it was still better to be cautious. An AVALANCHE spy in his own SOLDIER program was something to investigate. One spy, with the mission to execute Sephiroth, was a diversion. A pack of them would be an actual problem. 

Missions this risky tended to be solo runs. But he needed to be sure. 

He thumbed through the file again, looking for any threads that might be connected to someone else. 

#

The world returned to Cloud slowly, like surfacing from deep underwater. His body ached all over, but the burning agony had subsided. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly in the too-bright light. 

When his eyes finally adjusted, he looked around warily. Large windows overlooking Midgar’s perpetual dusk filled one wall. He was on a cool, hard surface, and when he turned his head to the other side, he saw Sephiroth’s boots propped up near his head. 

He was on Sephiroth’s desk, he realized, stretched out over the glass surface. Sephiroth was leaning back in his chair, reading through a file. 

“What...what happened?” he asked blearily. 

“J-cell injection,” Sephiroth said. He put his feet down on the ground and got up, helping Cloud into a sitting position. Cloud was grateful for the help, as his body was still not completely obeying his commands. 

“What the hell is that?” Cloud asked. 

“It’s complicated.” Sephiroth looked him over with a cool, critical gaze. “All you need to know is that it will make you stronger.” 

“It hurt like fuck,” Cloud said, annoyed. “You could at least have warned me.” 

“I know. I chose not to.” Sephiroth seemed completely unrepentant. “I’ve always found that the fear of pain makes the actual experience worse.” 

Cloud thought back to what Sephiroth had said while Hojo was approaching with the needle. 

_ I went through this when I was eight years old. I think you can handle it. _

At least Cloud had been sixteen when he became Hollader’s experiment. How could an eight year old endure something like that? When Cloud was eight, he was determined to become a chocobo racer, in between time spent running around town with Tifa, pulling simple pranks on good-natured neighbors and playing in the scrub oak. 

“Hojo and I are going to create a special regimen just for you,” Sephiroth said. “Be ready. It won’t be easy, but it will be worth your time.” 

“You’re helping him?” Cloud asked. 

Sephiroth nodded. “I grew up in a lab, Cloud. Is it so surprising that I might have picked up some aptitude for science along the way?” 

Cloud shrugged. He’d spent five years in Hollader’s lab and still couldn’t explain the simple biological principles that governed mako. 

“How do you feel?” Sephiroth asked. 

Cloud shook his arms out, testing the responsiveness of his body. It seemed mostly back to normal. “Okay,” he said. “Hey, isn’t Hojo going to report me to Shinra?” 

“I doubt it. You’re an interesting case study, and that’s all he cares about.” 

Cloud nodded. “Cool. Can I go now? I think I need to crash for about forty hours.” 

“Yes. And you may take tomorrow off.” Sephiroth’s absinthe eyes moved over him, inscrutable. “You did well, snowflake.” 

Cloud wanted to protest the stupid nickname, but it took all his energy to drag himself off the desk and out into the hallway. From there, he barely made it to his room before collapsing onto his bed and into a dark, dreamless sleep.   



	5. conceal (reveal)

**05\. conceal (reveal)**

_ ~What about my sadness?~ _

Sephiroth had been training Cloud for a few short weeks, and in that time Cloud had made a truly impressive improvement in his speed, stamina, and swordwork. Today, Sephiroth wanted to take another measure of his ability. 

They were on the rooftop of Shinra Tower again, empty space all around them and the glittering city of Midgar just below. Cloud still looked a little leery of the height, but even if his own striking agility and clever footwork betrayed him, Sephiroth would not let him fall. 

“Tell me something, Cloud,” Sephiroth said, watching closely. “Where were you when Nibelheim burned?” 

Cloud’s eyes--glowing brighter now than when he’d arrived thanks to several visits to Hojo’s lab--narrowed with anger, the kind he would need to harness to reach his full potential. This was both a test and a teaching moment. 

“You hid, didn’t you?” Sephiroth continued. “You found a safe place to hide while the rest of your friends and family died, and your home burned to the ground.” 

Cloud was like a wildfire. A single spark on a grassy plain, and the inferno that followed. He didn’t say a word, just launched himself into the fight. He spoke better with his sword, anyway. 

Sephiroth did not like to compare himself to delicate, foolish creatures, like moths. But it was hard to deny that something about Cloud’s burning fury drew him to circle a little closer each time. It made him feel alive just to witness it, to cross swords, to see the blaze in Cloud Strife’s eyes and watch him move. 

He liked that if he picked the right words, Cloud would respond to them as easily and powerfully as if he’d inflicted a physical wound. No one at Shinra was like that. Nothing meant anything at Shinra. But Cloud meant everything he said. 

It was as though everyone Sephiroth had ever known was simply rattling around in their lives, carelessly making haphazard noise in the process. But Cloud was an instrument. And if Sephiroth touched the strings just right--

“I hate you,” Cloud said, disarmed and on his back, looking up at Sephiroth. The long curve of the Masamune ran from Sephiroth’s hand and ended just before reaching Cloud’s throat. “Gods, I fuckin hate you. Especially when you smile like that, you creepy fuck.”

Sephiroth hadn’t realized he’d been smiling. “This is a good look on you, snowflake,” he said. It was. Cloud on his back, helpless…

Sephiroth had wanted him since the first time they crossed swords and he saw in a flash all of the power Cloud had been hiding. That constant--and growing--desire was more of an annoyance than anything, because it was clear Cloud would never reciprocate. 

“Do you want to know what it was like?” Cloud asked, still on the ground. “To watch my home burning?” 

His anger was spent, and there was a different kind of darkness to his eyes now, a sorrow that was not nearly as compelling as the brief spell of fury had been. It made Sephiroth feel strangely discontent. 

Cloud didn’t wait for Sephiroth to answer. “It made me feel helpless. Just like I do when you hold me down and let Hojo inject me with whatever the hell he wants. So we have that in common, at least. We both know what it’s like.”

Sephiroth felt himself go cold all the way through, his heart as distant and frozen as the Northern Crater. For a moment he wanted to thrust his sword just those extra few centimeters and neatly pierce the column of Cloud’s throat. 

Cloud looked like he knew it, too. 

“Go,” Sephiroth said, pulling his sword away. “We’re done for today.” 

Cloud got to his feet, picked up his sword, and left without another word, smart enough to know not to push his luck. 

Sephiroth sat on the edge of the roof, dangling his legs over Midgar, and spent a very long time not thinking about the years when he had been just as helpless as Cloud Strife watching Nibelheim burn. 

#

Cloud hadn’t seen Sephiroth in three days. That was pretty unusual, as for the past two months Sephiroth had been spending at least two or three hours training him every day. The General, apparently, had never heard of weekends. 

It was possible he was on a mission--he was a SOLDIER after all. But there really wasn’t much going on, unless it was something super covert, and in that case they’d probably send Turks anyway. 

Every time Cloud thought about their last encounter, it made him furious all over again. Sure, it was fine for Sephiroth to drag Cloud’s worst moments out into the light and hold them up like a bloody, ruined scrap of cloth, for all to see. But if Cloud made the barest mention of something that made Sephiroth vulnerable, well, he didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that Sephiroth had come very close to killing him. 

It was bullshit. And no one at Shinra ever called Sephiroth out on his bullshit. Ever. 

By the end of the third day, Cloud was determined to change that. He strapped his sword to his back and took the elevator up the thirty levels from the barracks to the floor where Sephiroth’s office was.

He was so angry he almost didn’t see the young woman with the basket of flowers who was just walking out of the reception area. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling back just in time. 

“Oh, it’s okay,” she said. “Would you like a flower?” 

She held one of the yellow blossoms out to him with such an earnest smile that he couldn’t help but take it. 

_ What the hell am I supposed to do with a flower? _

She gave him a cheerful smile. “I’ll see you later.” 

And before he could ask what she meant by “later,” she was already gone, the elevator doors closing behind her. 

Huh. Cloud shook his head, trying to clear it, but somehow his anger was completely gone, replaced by a gentle calm. For a moment, the flower looked like it was glowing in the same way his eyes now did. But on closer examination, it seemed like it was just his imagination. 

Sephiroth’s office door was locked. But Cloud was good with electronics, and particularly adept at breaking Shinra tech. So he let himself in just in time to see Sephiroth stepping out the open window into the open space sixty stories above the Plate. 

“Don’t,” he yelled, hurrying to the window. He wanted to kill Sephiroth, but _ not like this _. 

He had to steady himself so he didn’t fall out as well--the window was not designed to be opened this wide, and there was not even the barest hint of a ledge below. He looked down through the dizzying distance, bile rising in his throat, but he couldn’t make out Sephiroth’s falling figure through the haze of pollution. 

He stared into the darkness, stunned. The idea that Sephiroth might kill himself was just bizarre and earthshaking. And was it because of what Cloud had said to him?

“What the fuck?” he whispered, his voice shaky. 

“What are you doing in my office?” 

Cloud jerked back from the window as Sephiroth appeared before him, shirtless and looking slightly annoyed, but otherwise intact, and certainly not a broken, bloody heap on the pavement in front of Shinra Tower. 

_ Is that a wing? _

Fully extended and gently flapping to keep Sephiroth aloft, the wing was a graceful arc of pure black feathers, iridescent in the light of the office. It was a little weird that there was only one, but it was undeniably gorgeous. 

_ And hot. _

“You can fly,” Cloud said, reeling from the jarring emotional turns of the last thirty seconds. 

“And you can apparently break into places you’re not supposed to be.” 

Cloud shrugged nonchalantly, though the security on Sephiroth’s office door had been thorny and he was pretty proud of having hacked it. 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth glanced down at him. “Why did you bring a flower?” 

“Because I want to braid it into your hair,” Cloud said, rolling his eyes. But oddly enough, he still didn’t feel that angry. Annoyed, sure, but that burning rage he usually felt pretty much all the time had given him a respite. 

Sephiroth stepped through the window into the lighted office, his wing disappearing as he did so. “Do you even know how to braid hair?” 

“Of course I know how to braid hair.” Cloud had grown up braiding Tifa’s when her parents were too busy to help her get ready for school. She’d show up every morning in tears from whatever was going on at home, with no lunch and her hair a mess. Cloud’s mom eventually started packing two lunches every day, and Cloud carried a hairbrush and ties in his backpack so he could help Tifa tame her dark mane of hair every morning. 

So he grabbed a handful of Sephiroth’s hair and started weaving a braid into it, tucking the flower through the pattern. Sephiroth watched him, bemused. 

“You look pretty,” Cloud said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He had nothing to tie the end of the braid, so it wouldn’t last long, but he liked how ridiculous it looked. 

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said, sounding half-amused, half-bewildered. He pulled on a coat but left it open over his bare chest. “Come down to the cafeteria with me and get some dinner.” 

It was still more like an order than an invitation, but the annoyance Cloud would normally have felt had eased somewhat, and the thought of having someone to talk to at dinner was almost nice. 

Maybe he was becoming habituated to Sephiroth’s presence. Or maybe it was the prospect of seeing Sephiroth walk through Shinra’s hallways and into the SOLDIER mess with a flower in his hair. Whatever it was, Cloud was in a good mood for the first time in a long time. 


	6. (em)brace yourself

** 06\. (em)brace yourself**

_ ~Embrace your dreams and protect your honor...as SOLDIER!~ _

Cloud’s schedule was very concise. It pretty much just listed locations and times. So he found himself showing up to a lot of strange places with no real clue what would happen once he got there. 

This was the first assignment that wasn’t in Shinra Tower. He had to take a train to get beneath the plate, stopping to ask two locals how it worked and where he should get off. Once in Sector 6, he asked around again, cluelessly.

He knew how to navigate Midgar, of course. He’d been living in Sector 5 for years. But his file said he was fresh from New Nibelheim, so he had to play the country boy. 

He was wearing his SOLDIER uniform now, and that meant he stood out. Most of the locals looked at him with fear, and a few with thinly veiled contempt. 

He found the train graveyard and ventured through it towards the sound of voices. One boisterous and full of laughter, and the other Sephiroth’s rich, resonant tone, calm and measured. 

He should have known, but for some reason he didn’t expect Zack Fair to be standing beside Sephiroth, his hair like dark porcupine quills and his smile bright enough to light Midgar. He was laughing at something Sephiroth had just said, though Sephiroth didn’t look amused. 

Cloud’s hands clenched into fists, and for a moment he wasn’t in Midgar at all, but hiding under the brush at the edge of Nibelheim, choking on the smoke and trembling with fear and impotent anger as Sephiroth and Zack Fair systematically set fire to the village.

He’d mostly gotten over that knee jerk reaction, that hot rush of fury, that initially accompanied any appearance of Sephiroth. But somehow he hadn’t crossed paths with Zack Fair since that day. 

“Hey, there he is,” Zack called out, his voice light and breezy. 

People loved Zack Fair; he was charismatic and kind, and reporters were always snapping photos of him giving money to beggars or buying flowers in the slums. He was good PR for Shinra, and people didn’t think about the fact that he always followed orders, just like every other SOLDIER. 

Cloud took a deep breath, willed his hands to stop trembling, and waved. Sephiroth was watching him, his green eyes glinting with a perceptive gaze that made Cloud uneasy. 

“I never thought you’d take a student,” Zack said to Sephiroth as Cloud approached them. “Seriously. I thought you hated teaching.” 

“Cloud is...unique,” Sephiroth said, with a wry quirk to his mouth. 

“Yeah,” Cloud said, rolling his eyes. “Right back atcha, sir.” 

Zack grinned and hopped off the cube of rusted metal he’d been sitting on. He held out his hand for Cloud to shake. “Hey, nice to meet you.” 

It took nearly everything Cloud had to force a small smile onto his face and shake Zack’s hand. “Yeah. You too.” 

In the short time he’d been training with Sephiroth, Cloud realized that the man people called a great hero was actually strikingly amoral. The fact that he didn’t murder people he came across on a daily basis was something of a small miracle. And Cloud was beginning to realize how he’d gotten to be that way, as he was undergoing constant treatments that meant he was frequently in pain and even more frequently spending time with Hojo. Who wouldn’t grow up to be a monster, given that childhood? 

But Zack was different. Zack knew better. 

_ “Sephiroth, are you sure about this?” Zack hesitated, the Fira spell glowing in his palm.  _

_ “Yes.” Sephiroth stopped too, and turned to Zack. “It’s just like Wutai, Zack. We do what we have to, to prevent more deaths down the line. If we don’t make a statement here, AVALANCHE will grow. They’ll strike again and again, with more casualties each time.”  _

_ Zack was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.”  _

_ His Fira spell landed on the side of the barn where Cloud had raised his chocobo, the hayloft where he used to sleep in the warm lazy summer afternoons. He heard his chocobo’s anxious cry and almost ran out into the clearing to free it, but Tifa held him back as the Masamune cut a bright arc in the air, severing the metal chain that kept the barn doors closed. The chocobos and barn cats ran out into the night and quickly disappeared down the side of the hill, fleeing the burning town.  _

_ Cloud pressed his hands to his mouth and began to sob. Not out of sadness, but rage.  _

“Hey. You okay?” Zack was looking at him with worry in his bright eyes. 

“Sure,” Cloud said weakly. 

“I brought you two out here so you can spar,” Sephiroth said. “I believe Zack can teach you a thing or two.” 

Cloud gladly drew his sword, taking a step back and waiting for Zack to do the same. 

“Not big on talking, eh?” Zack pulled his own weapon, a standard Shinra broadsword. “Let’s do it, then.” 

Cloud launched into the duel with the hot, bright force of his anger. He was a whirlwind, the heavy sword flashing in the light as he danced around Zack, barely noticing the force of the impact when he blocked Zack’s weapon, relentlessly pressing the offensive. 

Zack said something, but he didn’t hear it. It didn’t matter; he was going to kill Zack Fair; after all these years of hate he was finally going to--

His downward strike hit against something as solid as stone, his arms trembling with the violent, jarring impact. Zack was on the ground, looking up at him with wide, shocked eyes. Cloud’s sword had been stopped just above Zack’s chest by the thin, glimmering length of the Masamune. 

“No,” Sephiroth said, like he was chastising a dog. Cloud’s sharp annoyance at his tone cut through the blinding anger, and he stepped back, breathing hard and trembling with spent adrenaline. 

“Damn,” Zack said, scrambling to his feet. He seemed a little shaken too, but his tone was light and friendly. “I get why Sephiroth picked you.” 

“You weren’t expecting Cloud to be that good, or that vicious,” Sephiroth said to Zack. “You need to always be prepared for anything. Honor will only get you so far.” 

“Tell that to Angeal,” Zack said, with a good natured smile. “And thanks, sir. For the advice.” 

Sephiroth nodded. “Well done today. You’re dismissed.” 

Zack’s smile got wider at the praise. “Yes, sir,” he said, then turned to Cloud. “Hey, man. Good fight. Let’s get a beer sometime, yeah? I’ll grab your number from the SOLDIER roster.” 

He raised his hand for a high five, and after a long, incredulous moment, Cloud slapped their hands together. Seemingly satisfied, Zack nodded at him and began jogging off into the darkness. 

“Tell me,” Sephiroth said softly, his sword still in his hand. “Did I kill any of your family when Nibelheim burned? Any friends? Pets? Did your childhood home go up in flames?” 

For some reason, the same rage didn’t rise in Cloud when he looked up at Sephiroth. Maybe he was just getting used to Sephiroth’s presence. Maybe it was just that he knew he couldn’t kill Sephiroth yet. Whatever it was, it let him look Sephiroth in the eye and shrug nonchalantly. 

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed. “That’s it?” 

He almost seemed jealous, and Cloud had to hold back a laugh at the absurd thought. “You saved my chocobo,” he said. 

Sephiroth looked rather put out by that revelation and by Cloud’s lack of interest in his taunts. “Maybe I’ll go back to Nibelheim and correct that.” 

“And maybe I’ll go hunt down Zack Fair,” Cloud said, only half joking. “Now that I know I can.” 

“You’ll do no such thing,” Sephiroth said. “Unless you’d like to see Tifa Lockhart suffer the same fate.” 

Cloud’s hands gripped the hilt of his sword harder, and he took a step back, shifting into a fighting stance. “You touch her and I will fucking end you.” 

Sephiroth smiled. It was slow and smug and chilling to watch. “Come try it, snowflake.”

Cloud didn’t need to be told twice. 


	7. (dis)passionate action

**07\. (dis)passionate action **

_ ~If everything’s a dream, don’t wake me~ _

Cloud woke from a deep sleep to the feeling of a large hand pressed against his throat. His attacker wasn’t squeezing tightly enough to cut off his air supply, but Cloud jerked awake all the same. 

He started fighting before his eyes were even open, flailing and scrambling to get out from under the heavy weight that was straddling him. Finally, he regained his wits enough to notice the fall of silver hair around him in the dimly lit room, the green glow of Sephiroth’s eyes above him. 

“If someone wanted to kill you I believe they’d have no trouble,” he drawled, his right hand still draped gently over Cloud’s throat, his left holding down Cloud’s right wrist despite his earnest struggles. 

Cloud sighed, falling back against the bed and glaring up at Sephiroth. “You’re ridiculous. And this little training moment is completely unnecessary. Nobody is gonna sneak into Shinra Tower at five in the morning to strangle me in my sleep.”

“No?” Sephiroth raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t let go of his death grip on Cloud yet. “Isn’t that what you were going to do to me?” 

“No way.” Cloud held Sephiroth’s gaze, baring his teeth in anger and defiance. “I wanted you to be awake. So you’d know who killed you.” 

Sephiroth smiled, bitter and sharp edged and no less beautiful for it. “Where have you been all my life, little snowflake?” 

“Don’t call me that,” Cloud muttered. He was aware of Sephiroth now in another way, the adrenaline that had flooded him on waking creating a different kind of urge. Like it or not, Sephiroth was  _ hot. _ Even more so when he was pretending to assassinate Cloud in the dark Midgar morning, apparently. 

Cloud shifted, trying to hide the evidence of his desire, but Sephiroth’s smirk told him he’d only drawn attention to it. 

“Do you want something?” Sephiroth asked, his eyes flaring mako-bright.

“I want you to be less of a psycho,” Cloud muttered. “And I wanna sleep in for once.” 

Sephiroth laughed, and leaned in to kiss him. 

Cloud would have liked to say he resisted, at least at first, but the truth was that he answered Sephiroth’s passion with his own, just as fierce and vicious. The kiss was rough, a thorough claiming, though he wasn’t sure which of them was making the claim. He canted his hips upward and felt Sephiroth grind against them, slightly gratified that he wasn’t the only one affected. 

“You can go to hell,” he said, when they finally broke apart. “You bastard.” 

Sephiroth didn’t seem at all bothered by that, removing his hand from Cloud’s neck so he could tug up the hem of Cloud’s faded T-shirt. 

Cloud let Sephiroth undress him, a little mollified by the awe on Sephiroth’s face as he ran his elegant fingers over the planes of Cloud’s body. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, his lips against Cloud’s stomach. “You are a beautiful weapon.” 

Cloud wasn’t sure what to say to that. He didn’t know if he liked that kind of affection when it was coming from Sephiroth. So he jerked hard on a handful of silver hair and said, “Get on with it before I change my mind.” 

Sephiroth looked up at him, eyebrow raised. “Is that likely?” 

Instead of answering that, Cloud fished in the nightstand for lube and tossed it to Sephiroth. “Hurry up. I don’t wanna spend any more time with you than necessary.” 

Sephiroth glanced at the bottle, then at Cloud, his eyes flashing darkly. “Is this something you do often, then? Who else?” 

That last question sounded almost like a threat, and Cloud did his best to look nonchalant when answering. He didn’t want to know what would happen if Sephiroth found out about the time he spent with Heidegger. “Nah. Not often. Not for a long time, and definitely not with anyone from around here.” 

“Good,” Sephiroth said. “Keep it that way.” 

“I’ll fuck who I want,” Cloud said, then drew in a soft breath as Sephiroth began to gently tease his entrance with a slick fingertip.

“Will you, snowflake?” Sephiroth was watching him intently, and he wished he could read whatever was hidden behind those glowing eyes. 

“Don’t call me snowflake,” Cloud growled. It was made less convincing by the way his voice trembled as Sephiroth moved his fingers just right. “It’s stupid. You’re stupid.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth’s fingers were moving in earnest now, a shudder of pleasure running through Cloud on each thrust. “You’re fearless, aren’t you? Fierce. Dangerous. And yet here you are, open and willing for me.” 

“Just fuck me, Sephiroth,” Cloud said. He didn’t want anything gentle or kind from Sephiroth. He wanted hate, so that he could hate in return without ever wondering if there could be something else. 

“How can I deny you, when you beg like that?” Sephiroth said, pulling his fingers away so he could thrust into Cloud in one hard, fluid motion. 

“Fucker,” Cloud hissed. It burned a little but it was good, better than anything he’d ever had, and he bucked his hips upward to meet Sephiroth’s, again and again, digging his nails hard into Sephiroth’s pale skin. 

No one had ever looked at him the way Sephiroth did just then, like he saw the sum total of Cloud, all the parts together. He looked at the viciousness and violence in Cloud’s heart without flinching, and while there was no tenderness in his gaze, he certainly wasn’t indifferent. 

Afterwards, Sephiroth flopped down beside Cloud and seemed to have no intention of leaving. Instead, he looked the least evil Cloud had ever seen him. He reminded Cloud of a cat who had successfully brought a mouse to the doorstep and was now lying down to take a nap. 

“What, are you just gonna stay here?” Cloud asked. He tried to sound more annoyed than he actually was. It was hard to be that pissed off after sex like that. 

“Mmm.” Sephiroth threw an arm across Cloud’s chest and closed his eyes. “Take the day off and save your energy, snowflake. I’m going to fuck you again later.” 

“If I let you,” Cloud muttered, mostly to himself. But it was still ridiculously early in the morning, and it wasn’t long before he fell asleep too. 

#

Sephiroth woke to the feeling of a warm body beside him, in a bed that was not his own. He glanced at the clock on the side of Cloud’s bed and saw that he’d been napping for over an hour, which was very unusual for him. Particularly when in such close proximity to someone else. 

He liked being with Cloud. Usually interpersonal relationships were a strain--it was only a question of degree. Predicting their reactions, guessing at the right thing to say, attempting to imitate the “normal” way to react and behave. It was exhausting. He had been raised with the barest nod to social norms, which Hojo generally considered superfluous. Adopting the finer points now was like trying to learn a new language as an adult. He had neither the time nor the inclination for such an undertaking. 

But with Cloud everything was easy. Cloud hated Sephiroth, and nothing Sephiroth did was likely to change that. There were no expectations to fulfill. He did not have to dance around the conversation, careful to keep his distance while making his lover feel secure. He did not have to care--he did not even have to pretend to care. 

It was very nearly perfect. 

He rolled over on his side and curled himself around Cloud like a shell. The lack of a romantic bond did not make the touch of skin any less pleasant. Sephiroth liked to be touched in an intimate setting like this, but generally avoided it since most took it as a gesture of affection. He tried to avoid misleading his lovers if at all possible. 

Cloud, however, was not likely to make such a mistake. Which left Sephiroth free to take what he wished as long as Cloud was willing--and he certainly had been willing this morning. 

He wrapped his arm around Cloud and pulled him closer, pressing his open hand to Cloud’s chest. Cloud’s body was relaxed in sleep, but still lean and hard with muscle. 

Cloud started to stir, but didn’t pull away. “You’re still here?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Guarding you,” Sephiroth said. “From any potential assassins.” 

“You’re the one I need protection from,” Cloud said, sounding more awake. 

Sephiroth pinched Cloud’s side, hard, smiling at the indignant noise Cloud made. “That is completely unfair. We have a truce, and I intend to honor it as long as you do.” 

“Still gonna kill you someday,” Cloud said, attempting to wriggle out of Sephiroth’s grip. 

Sephiroth ran his hand from Cloud’s chest down over the hard planes of his stomach, then lower. “Not today,” he murmured. “You’re mine today, snowflake.” 

“Okay.” Cloud grabbed Sephiroth’s wrist and pulled it away from his groin, turning to face him. “You have got to stop calling me snowflake. What the fuck does it even mean?” 

A snowflake was a particular type of shuriken made in Wutai, known for its quality and speed. During the war, Sephiroth lost many troops to those symmetric, razor-edged weapons, but had thought them beautiful. That they were almost always lethal made them even more so. 

“An AVALANCHE is made up of snowflakes,” Sephiroth said, watching Cloud intently. He didn’t want to miss the fury that he knew would cross Cloud’s face. “Little snowflakes like you who don’t stand a chance against a fire.” 

He wasn’t disappointed. Anger flashed in Cloud’s eyes, and he flipped them over, shoving Sephiroth hard into the mattress and kissing him roughly.

“Someday AVALANCHE is going to bury you,” Cloud growled. 

Sephiroth pulled him closer, thinking that was the kind of promise he had always wanted to hear from a lover. The kind of promise he could answer with one of his own.


	8. You are (un)done

** 8\. you** ** are (un)done**

_ ~Don’t really care...~ _

The lighting was low and intimate in the bar, which was tucked away at the edge of Sector 1. The furnishings were so luxurious they felt decadent, soft leather booths and gleaming gold trim. It was exactly the kind of place one would imagine the most powerful people in Shinra would gather. 

Sephiroth did not come often. But his presence was required today, as it was every year. It wasn’t the kind of lavish party that President Shinra usually threw to celebrate occasions, as this one was not one that they typically publicized. It was the anniversary, not of the end of the Wutai War, but the beginning. The Shinra elite came together--even Hojo--and raised a glass to honor, if only in the most perfunctory of ways, the many lives that had been lost to further their ambitions. 

As the weapon that had been responsible for most of those deaths, Sephiroth was expected to attend. 

Sephiroth glanced at his watch and guessed that the President would start speaking in roughly half an hour. He leaned back against the bar and watched the colorful rituals of the Shinra executives. 

“Hey there, big guy.” Scarlet smiled up at him, looking both beautiful and predatory in her signature red. She took a keycard with the logo for the hotel next door and tucked it into Sephiroth’s pocket with a sly smile. “Top floor,” she purred, then winked at him and moved on. 

He wondered if she expected him to actually take her up on it this time, or if it was just another of the meaningless rituals they all practiced every year, as though the executives could drink and fuck away their guilt.

“Careful, Sephiroth.” Reeve gave him a cautious smile, like one might give a dog when unsure whether or not it would bite. “She’s dangerous.” 

“So am I,” Sephiroth said. 

Reeve chuckled uneasily. “Yes, I suppose you are.” His smile faded, and for a moment he was all seriousness. “I wanted to...draw your attention to something. I know that Heidegger is the head of the SOLDIER program. However, this is not something I can bring to him.” 

Sephiroth nodded. “I’m listening.” 

“Maybe I’m stepping where I’m not wanted,” Reeve said. “But that seems like…a possible abuse of power.” He gestured with his head--as subtly as he was capable of being--at Heidegger and the pretty blonde girl he’d brought in with him. 

Reeve kept talking, but Sephiroth didn’t hear the rest because he caught the glint of a mako glow in those blue eyes and cold recognition spread through him. 

It was Cloud. He was wearing a purple dress with a fitted bodice and a skirt that flared around his hips. His blonde wig was artfully styled and a diamond necklace sparkled at his throat. 

He stumbled in his strappy high heels, and Heidegger caught him, chuckling. “Careful, sweetheart,” Heidegger said. 

“I can tell you think it’s inappropriate too,” Reeve murmured. 

Sephiroth glanced at him, but only briefly. His eyes were drawn again to Cloud. 

“You look like you’re going to murder someone.” Reeve said. “I’m just going to slowly back away.” 

Sephiroth ignored him, watching as Heidegger took a booth in the back, settling Cloud on his lap. 

It wasn’t unusual for a Shinra executive to bring along some sweet young thing to spice up a boring meeting. Scarlet and Reeve were the only ones who didn’t take advantage of their position, as Scarlet liked her lovers strong and dangerous and Reeve seemed to have taken a vow of celibacy. Usually Sephiroth didn’t care in the slightest who any of them took to bed, not even if it happened to be one of his subordinates.

But this was different. Sephiroth was sure Cloud was more interested in what was in Heidegger’s files than what was in his pants, but Heidegger was insistent and aggressive. And the sight of him putting his pudgy hands on Cloud…_ did not matter. _ It did not matter to Sephiroth in the slightest. 

It was only that Cloud looked so different, like this. He stumbled and hesitated, with none of his usual confidence or purpose. And instead of his usual surly expression, he was wearing a look of wide-eyed vulnerability. As Heidegger put a large, meaty hand on his upper thigh, Cloud simply turned his face away from the room and tilted his gaze downward. Instead of punching Heidegger in the face and saying something obscene and inventive, he shrunk into himself. He looked meek and submissive, quietly helpless. 

He looked like he needed to be saved. 

And Sephiroth, who had never wanted to save anyone, couldn’t help but imagine what might happen if he rescued Cloud from Heidegger’s clutches. 

He’d thought that Cloud was like him, that Cloud’s fearlessness came from a place of emptiness. But now he could see a deep vulnerability in Cloud, an openness to the world despite the wary, guarded front he had always shown Sephiroth.

For all his bravado, Cloud still _ cared _. He believed in something, and that left him open to the world in a way that was beyond compelling. Sephiroth didn’t fully understand why, but he felt a lust so keen and deeply seated it was akin to a yearning, for the glint of golden purity before him. 

Cloud squirmed in Heidegger’s grasp, looking unhappy. “I don’t want to,” he whispered, softly enough that even with his enhanced hearing, Sephiroth barely caught his words. 

Heidegger grinned, a brash cut of teeth, and Sephiroth realized decisive action would be necessary. 

He took a moment to consider the problem. Cloud was probably doing this to gain intel for AVALANCHE, and so was unlikely to obey a command to leave. As far as the SOLDIER rules were concerned, Heidegger’s orders would take precedence. However, leaving Cloud in Heidegger’s clutches was also an unacceptable outcome. 

When Sephiroth had been a General of the Armies, strategizing on the battlefield, he would always remind himself that the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. His strategies were as deceptively simple and brutally effective as his weapon. 

Right now, the enemy had something Sephiroth wanted. The simplest thing in the world was to take it. 

#

Cloud knew the exact moment when Sephiroth recognized him, when those glowing green eyes turned their unnaturally sharp focus on his face and lingered there. He hoped that Sephiroth would be smart enough to leave him the fuck alone. 

Cloud didn’t particularly want to be hidden away in a dark corner of the bar where Shinra’s elite apparently hung out, wearing a cocktail dress and seated half in Heidegger’s lap. It made him feel weak and helpless, when he’d spent his entire life trying to be anything but that. 

When he agreed to do this mission, he thought it would be no big deal. Let some creepy Shinra executive get his rocks off a few times and it will pay off in information and blackmail material. Cloud was used to anonymous sex, and it didn’t register at first just how different this would be. How every time it felt like he was handing over his dignity and his self-respect, and how it kept getting harder to wash away the stain. 

Heidegger’s hand moved up Cloud’s bare thigh. He’d had to shave his legs for this mission, which was a real hassle, but Heidegger seemed pleased with the results. 

Cloud turned his face away. Heidegger liked it when his lovers put up a bit of a fight, and Cloud didn’t have to pretend to be reluctant or ashamed. “Not here,” he said, softly.

His gaze demurely downcast, Cloud watched Sephiroth’s black boots make their way across the room with a sinking feeling in his stomach. 

“Sephiroth,” Heidegger said, all bravado and cheer. “How good to see you. I can’t remember the last time--”

“Come with me,” Sephiroth said. Cloud didn’t have to look up to know Sephiroth was talking to him. 

“This little minx isn’t going anywhere tonight,” Heidegger said. His hand rested possessively on the back of Cloud’s neck. “She’s got plans. Remember, Sephiroth. We’re not at war. I’m the head of Public Safety, not you, and my authority takes precedence.” 

Cloud closed his eyes as they argued, feeling hot with shame and somehow dirty, like he would ruin anything he touched.

Then Sephiroth’s hands were on him, lifting him right off of Heidegger’s lap and tossing him over a hard, muscular shoulder. It happened in the space of a few breathless seconds, and Cloud didn’t fully register what had happened until they were out the door. 

_ Oh no. Oh, hell no. _

“Put me the fuck down you fucking asshole,” Cloud snarled, flailing with all his strength as Sephiroth carried him down the dark hallway towards the elevator that led to the adjacent hotel. “I swear I’m gonna kill you someday, you Shiva-fucked shiteating son of a coerul.” 

Sephiroth didn’t put him down until they’d reached the top floor and he’d let them into a swanky suite overlooking Midgar. For a moment, they just stared at each other. Sephiroth looked almost as surprised as Cloud felt by the turn of events. 

“You asshole.” Cloud tugged off the wig, which was uncomfortably hot and a little itchy, and ran his hand through his messy hair. “You just ruined a month of hard work. What the hell?” 

Sephiroth just stared impassively at him, like he’d been doing all evening. Cloud had no idea what was going on behind those snake’s eyes, but he could certainly tell that their focus was on him and had been ever since Sephiroth first spotted him in the dark corner of the bar. 

“You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself,” Sephiroth finally said.

“I wasn’t. I was working.” Cloud scowled furiously at Sephiroth, flushed with anger and shame even though this whole act had been part of a mission, nothing more. “Heidegger likes the act and the dress. And tonight he was gonna take me home with him. To his house. Where he keeps classified Shinra shit he really shouldn’t have.” 

“I see.” Sephiroth actually looked a little disappointed, though Cloud couldn’t fathom why. Maybe it was just discovering that Cloud wasn’t as strong or as honorable as he’d thought. 

When he was sixteen, all Cloud had ever wanted was to be worthy of Sephiroth, his hero, his idol. He’d thought that childhood reverence dead and buried, but somehow in the last several weeks, Sephiroth had inspired something in him. Not hero worship, but a kind of grudging respect. 

Whatever respect Sephiroth had for Cloud was probably just about gone, now. The realization was upsetting, and the thought that he cared at all what Sephiroth thought made Cloud angry and irritable. 

“I should have known you’d fuck it up somehow,” he muttered, wiping the lipstick off his mouth with the back of his hand. “Never would have guessed you’d carry me off like a sack of potatoes. Thanks, asshole. Great rescue. You’re a real fuckin hero, just like they say.” 

“You...seemed so different,” Sephiroth said, studying him intently. “You’re a very good actor.” 

Cloud shrugged, pulling off the shawl he wore with the dress to hide his shoulders, which were too muscular to be convincingly feminine. He kicked off the strappy high heels and sighed softly with relief. They were the worst part of the outfit, by far. 

“Look, it’s not really acting,” he said, only admitting it because Sephiroth seemed so fixated on this. “That’s how I used to be. Too shy to talk to anyone and too scared to ever say no. That’s still me, deep inside, but I spent years building a shell around it. When I’m with Heidegger or whoever, I just stop pretending to be strong. It’s actually really easy.” 

Sephiroth actually tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing as he considered Cloud’s words. “You don’t have to pretend,” he said, then paused. “With me. You don’t have to pretend anything with me.”

Cloud glanced at him, unsure of what exactly was being offered. 

“I don’t have to pretend when I’m with you,” Sephiroth said. He looked Cloud in the eye, one soldier to another, like always, despite the circumstances. “You shouldn’t either.” 

It was kind of a strange offer, but then everything about his relationship with Sephiroth was strange. And if he was going to be his honest self in front of someone, Sephiroth was a good choice, since he was pretty uniformly indifferent to everyone. And since Cloud hated him. 

_ I still hate him, _ Cloud thought, but he didn’t even manage to convince himself. 

“Will you unzip me?” Cloud asked, turning around. 

Sephiroth’s fingertips brushed his upper back, then he felt cool air meet his skin as the zipper parted the fabric of the dress. His underwear was pretty ridiculous as well--picked out by Heidegger just as the rest of the outfit had been--but it wasn’t the cross dressing that bothered him. 

Cloud grabbed one of the white robes laid out on the king size bed and draped it around himself. “So, were you planning on hooking up tonight?” he asked, glancing around the swanky suite. “This is pretty nice.” 

“Not exactly,” Sephiroth admitted. “This is Scarlet’s room. She gives me the keycard every year in case I want to join her.” 

“Do you?” 

“No.” Sephiroth didn’t offer any explanation or apology. “But the festivities go late. She won’t be back until after midnight. If you wait here, I can fetch you some clothes.” 

“Thanks,” Cloud said. He meant it, and for more than just the offer of clothes. Knowing that he didn’t have to go to bed with Heidegger was like a huge weight off his chest, and he was almost a little giddy with relief. 

#

When Sephiroth returned, Cloud was asleep. He was sprawled out on the bed, wrapped in the white bathrobe, his hair disheveled but his face clear and free of any trace of makeup. Carefully, Sephiroth sat on the bed beside him and tentatively brushed his fingers over one of the particularly prominent blonde spikes. 

Why was he so maddeningly compelling, and how could Sephiroth break this hold Cloud had over him?

He didn’t want to wake Cloud, so he settled in one of the plush chairs to read through emails on his phone until he heard the click of the door opening again.

Scarlett walked in, her usual swagger and bravado oddly absent until she registered his presence. She looked first at Cloud, then at Sephiroth, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “I heard you made quite the commotion.” 

“Do you think I should kill Heidegger?” Sephiroth asked. That simmering anger was still present, every time he thought of the shadows in Cloud’s eyes. Anger at Heidegger and even at Cloud himself for letting this happen. For sacrificing himself for a cause that wasn’t worthy of him. 

Scarlett laughed, and it sounded weary and a little wild. 

“I’m not joking,” Sephiroth said. He knew he could trust her for a straight answer. 

“I know you’re not.” Scarlett crossed the room to sit beside him, keeping her voice low. “But killing someone over a girl seems awfully petty, don’t you think? You need to let her choose who she wants, and then you have to accept that.”

“I see.” It hadn’t occurred to Sephiroth that he needed to listen to Cloud, to let Cloud make the decision. But now he realized he wanted that, wanted Cloud to choose him. 

“She’ll come around. Trust me.” Scarlet patted his shoulder, confidently. “I’ll let you have the room tonight. You’ll just have to owe me.” 

She winked at him, grabbed the bottle of expensive champagne, and walked out. 

Cloud stirred as soon as the door closed behind her, sitting up and glaring at Sephiroth. The bathrobe fell off one shoulder, revealing pale skin. 

“If someone calls me “she” one more time tonight, I’m gonna fuck something up,” Cloud grumbled. “Just sayin.” 

Sephiroth felt oddly like he should apologize, which was not a familiar or comfortable state. “Cloud...” he hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “I...apologize, for my behavior tonight. It was clearly inappropriate.” 

Cloud snorted. “Yeah. That’s putting it lightly. Are you really sorry that I’m not in Heidegger’s bed right now?”

When Cloud put it that way…

“No bullshit, remember?” Cloud said. “Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not cause you think it’s what I want.” 

“I regret the method, but not the result,” Sephiroth said. As always, the direct truth was easiest for him. “You are a warrior. You deserve a little more respect.”

Cloud was quiet for a moment, surprised by the admission. “As a kid I looked up to you. I always dreamed of being strong enough to impress you, strong enough to be a SOLDIER First Class, just like you.” 

“You’re strong enough for all that and more,” Sephiroth said. “But I imagine that’s not your dream anymore.” 

Cloud shrugged, looking away. “I’m good with a sword. But I’m also a fuckin mess. My mom died of cancer when I was fifteen. A year later I watched my hometown burn and then I spent five years of my life in and out of Hollander’s mako tanks, and when I got out I barely even knew who I was.” 

Sephiroth was not adept at social situations, and usually preferred not to deal with anyone who was having emotional difficulties, no matter how short lived. But this was different. Cloud was the strong, dauntless spirit that had walked into SOLDIER and taken a place in the ranks, brave enough to be a double agent in the most dangerous company in the world. And yet inside his heart was this breathtaking vulnerability, as rare and precious as mastered materia. How could it be? And why was it so compelling? 

“My upbringing was hardly typical either, as you know,” Sephiroth said. Though it had left him hollow inside, devoid of the richness and purity that was in Cloud’s heart. 

“Fair enough.” Cloud cleared his throat, looking away. “I guess I...I wish you had found a less humiliating way to get me out of there. But I’m grateful that you did. I should be pissed that you ruined my mission, but I’m mostly just relieved.” 

Sephiroth couldn’t deny the rush of pleasure it brought to know that his rescue had been appreciated. How could Cloud affect him so, when no one else ever had? 

Throughout his life, Sephiroth had had very few things he could truly call his own. In fact, his sword was the only thing he owned that hadn’t been given to him--in one way or another--by Shinra. As a child he’d owned nothing at all until he learned to summon it. 

Perhaps that was why the thought of sharing Cloud with anyone else, for any reason, was nearly unbearable. 

Scarlet was right--Cloud needed to decide what he wanted. But if he chose Heidegger ...well, the Head of Public Safety might find himself at the mercy of the weapon he believed he had tamed.


	9. (controlled) devotion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: unhealthy relationships/coping mechanisms

**09\. ** **(controlled) ** **devotion**

_ What I have shown you is reality. _

Cloud rarely sought out Sephiroth. It was always the other way around, Sephiroth ordering him to report to a training room or taking him somewhere to fight new and different kinds of monsters. So Sephiroth was surprised when he came home one evening to find Cloud sitting in the hallway beside the door to his apartment. How Cloud came across the address was something of a mystery, but he had a knack for getting into places he wasn’t supposed to be. 

Cloud got to his feet, looking up at Sephiroth sullenly, as though it was Sephiroth’s fault he was here at all. He looked so thoroughly annoyed that Sephiroth decided not to ask why he was here and why he had sat outside the door for who knows how long rather than calling. He did have Sephiroth’s number, after all. 

Sephiroth wasn’t going to question the situation, or acknowledge the lightness in his chest at the thought that Cloud had come to see him. 

He unlocked the door and held it open. “Come in, Cloud.” 

“Thanks,” Cloud muttered, but he didn’t sound particularly grateful. 

“Are you hungry?” Sephiroth asked, taking off his long jacket and hanging it carefully in the closet. Today he was wearing his most distinctive outfit, all black with the leather straps that crossed his chest. Genesis loved to make fun of it, but Sephiroth wasn’t going to pay much heed to ridicule from someone who quoted poetry as he fought. 

“Nah.” Cloud shoved his hands in his pockets, looking around. “Nice place.” 

“Thank you,” Sephiroth said. While luxurious, the space was strikingly impersonal. It had been purchased and furnished by Shinra, like almost everything Sephiroth owned. They had never actually sent him a paycheck, but rather simply paid for everything he might need in advance. In such a way, President Shinra emphasized the kind of ownership he was able to have over someone with no birth certificate, no family to claim him, and no real purpose outside of the work he did for Shinra. 

It was...irritating. But it had always been that way, and Sephiroth assumed it always would. 

“Hey, uh…” Cloud stared down at the floor, frowning. It was clearly going to take him a little while to get the words out, so Sephiroth sat in one of the dining chairs to take his boots off. “Did you say something to Heidegger?” 

“Yes.” 

Cloud sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah. I figured.” 

Sephiroth wanted to ask why Cloud would continue to be so loyal to AVALANCHE when they’d asked him to compromise himself in a way he so clearly despised. But he kept silent. He’d done plenty of questionable things for Shinra, after all. 

He expected Cloud to get angry, but Cloud just walked over to the kitchen and--without invitation--opened the door to Sephiroth’s refrigerator, looking inside. 

“I’m starving,” Cloud said. “You got anything to eat?”

“Get out of there,” Sephiroth chided, joining Cloud in the kitchen. “I’ll make us something.” 

Dinner was...pleasant, with Cloud there. There was talking and there were long but comfortable silences between. And afterwards, he helped with the dishes. 

He was standing at the sink, warm water running down his soapy hands, while Sephiroth brought in the dishes from the table. And maybe it was because Sephiroth was behind him, and so couldn’t see his face, that he finally opened up. 

“I got in a fight with Tifa,” he said, softly. “She knows I’m sleeping with you. She knows it’s the reason we’re never gonna get our hands on Heidegger’s plans for Junon. She’s pissed at me, and she has every right to be.” 

“She has no right to be,” Sephiroth said. He was surprised at how strongly he believed that. “You’ve sacrificed everything for AVALANCHE. You deserve something of your own.” 

“It’s fine,” Cloud murmured. “I get where she’s coming from. It’s just that...I feel like shit. And I thought…” 

Sephiroth set his boots aside and waited, patiently. He was learning that Cloud needed patience and space to really be able to express himself.

“When you did that thing,” Cloud said, finally. “When you were...controlling me. It’s weird but...it felt good. It felt really good.” 

Sephiroth leaned back, startled by the admission. When Hojo had run that experiment, testing their connection, Sephiroth had discovered he had the ability to reach out to Cloud, to link their minds and exert his will. 

Cloud, of course, had been furious. For the week after, he had barely even spoken to Sephiroth except to hurl insults. But Sephiroth had understood. A lack of control was what he feared most, after all. 

“You told me you hated it,” Sephiroth said. “That it was the worst thing I had ever done to anyone.” 

“Cause it scared me,” Cloud admitted. “To let anyone have control like that. It still does, a little. But I…” He crossed his arms, looking everywhere but at Sephiroth. “I want you to do it. Just for a little bit. My head is so fucked and I just need a way out.” 

Sephiroth studied Cloud. He seemed to be completely sincere in his desire. And Sephiroth would be lying if he said it didn’t stir his own as well. The intensity of the connection they’d had, the intimacy of it, had been shocking, but ever since then, he’d craved it. 

So he didn’t refuse Cloud’s offer, even though he knew he should. 

“Any rules you’d like to lay down first?” he asked. 

“You can’t make me hurt anyone,” Cloud said. He sounded like he’d given it some thought already. “And I don’t want you to do it if there’s ever anyone else around.” 

“Fair enough,” Sephiroth said, stepping forward eagerly. 

“Don’t smile like that, you creepy asshole,” Cloud said. And then his eyes widened, the irises flaring an even brighter blue as Sephiroth’s compulsion took him over. 

“You can trust me with this, you know,” Sephiroth said, sitting on the center of the plush sofa he almost never used. 

_ Come here, Cloud. _

Cloud came to him - eagerly, for once - and climbed into his lap without protest. 

“Tell me what else is bothering you,” Sephiroth said. 

“I’m so fuckin sick of the Turks” Cloud said, leaning his head into Sephiroth’s shoulder and sighing. “They’re always after SOLDIERs, you know. Trying to test our loyalty, catch us in a lie. They kept saying if I wasn’t your pet, they’d be just about ready to run me out of Midgar.” 

“Hmm.” Sephiroth brushed his lips against Cloud’s ear. “Would you like me to slaughter them?” 

Cloud laughed. He was so relaxed like this, comfortable and calm. It was easy enough to pretend that this was just the way things stood between them, this simple, open-hearted affection. 

“I don’t care about anyone except you,” Cloud said. 

“I could say the same to you,” Sephiroth told him. It was true even though Sephiroth wasn’t under any kind of compulsion. Before, there had been no one that mattered. Now there was Cloud. Somehow, he had turned everything on its head. 


	10. (fair) weather friends

**08\. (fair)** ** weather friends**

_ ~When the war of beasts brings about the world’s end...~ _

Cloud had no idea how he’d gotten here. None at all. Zack Fair was a force of nature, not unlike a tornado, that had blown through the door of Cloud’s room in the Third Class barracks and carried him all the way out of Shinra Tower and through Sector 1 to a little speakeasy hidden away in the back of an old, distinguished hotel building. 

The bar was secluded, with only a handful of small tables, each cushioned in a generous amount of shadow. The ambiance was warm and luxurious, the few patrons wearing business suits or cocktail attire. The whole locale didn’t seem to fit Zack Fair at all, but he must have come here relatively often, because he knew the password to get through the door. 

He shrugged at Cloud as they took their seats at a table in the back, like he could tell what Cloud was thinking. “The Firsts usually come here to get away from the paparazzi. Sometimes I come with them. It’s not my first choice, but I figured if you’re gonna try and kill me again it’s better if we’re not in public.” 

Cloud blinked, completely caught off guard. 

Zack held his stare a second too long, and then laughed, playfully punching him in the arm. 

Cloud smiled uneasily, utterly baffled. 

“So where did you learn to fight?” Zack asked, as two tall glasses of beer were set in front of them. “I mean, seriously. You’ve got skills, man.” 

“I had a mentor, kinda,” Cloud said, casually. “My family moved to New Nibelheim when I was a teenager and I trained there.” It was a cover story, nothing more. Cloud hadn’t been to Nibelheim since the day after the fire. 

“New Nibelheim, huh.” A shadow of some sort crossed Zack’s expressive face. Cloud wondered if it was remorse. “I grew up in Gongaga. Little village in the middle of nowhere. No one ever knows it.” 

“I know it,” Cloud said. He had, in fact, helped Barret set the charges to blow up the reactor there during one of the rare moments of lucidity he’d had over the years Hollander was working on him. “There’s a beautiful forest around it, right? Great for hunting?” 

Zack grinned at him, looking a lot more enthusiastic than Cloud felt like the revelation really warranted. He told Cloud some stories about growing up there--stories Cloud would have liked to answer with similar ones of his own, if he’d been able to talk about the Nibelheim of his childhood.

_ In a different world, we would have been friends.  _

“So, Sephiroth, huh?” Zack said, after spending quite some time on the subject of Gongaga, and backwater towns in general. “I thought my mentor was a hardass, but I bet he’s worse.” 

“Yeah. He’s a bastard,” Cloud said. “Some days I just wanna fuckin strangle him, y’know?” 

Zack blinked at him. 

“I mean, metaphorically,” Cloud reassured him. 

Zack’s eyes glowed, just like all the SOLDERs’ did. For someone so offbeat, he seemed uncannily perceptive for a moment, studying Cloud’s face. And then he laughed, and he sounded like he didn’t have a single care in the world. 

“I see why Sephiroth likes you so much,” he said. “You’re just like him.” 

Cloud scowled. “I’m nothing like him.” 

“Not true, my friend.” Zack shook his head, smiling, and began to count off on his fingers. “Crazy good with a sword? Check. Kind of a psycho? Check. Ridiculous hair? Check.” 

It unnerved Cloud a little bit, because for all his levity, Zack was right. 

“So I feel like I should tell you,” Zack said, shifting uneasily in the booth. “There’s a lot of bullshit out there. Rumors, I mean. Like, about you and Sephiroth.” 

Cloud raised an eyebrow. “What, like I’m a spy for a terrorist organization and I’m seducing him so he’ll turn against Shinra?” 

Zack blinked at him, and the silence lingered a beat too long. 

“I’m kidding,” Cloud said. 

Zack laughed, sounding relieved. He gave Cloud a grin so open and cheerful Cloud almost wanted to get caught up in his carefree charm, and lifted his beer. “To a new friendship, yeah?”

Cloud felt something in his chest harden, and he didn’t reciprocate the gesture. “Is it exhausting being you?” he asked, fixing Zack with a level gaze. 

“What do you mean?” Zack sat back, studying him with a slight frown.

“It’s like…” Cloud thought for a moment, trying to put it into words. “Like everyone knows Sephiroth and Genesis are the monsters who won the Wutai War. Even Angeal, they know he’s dangerous. But you. You put on this act, like all puppies and sunshine and rainbows. And people fucking love it. They love you. And they forget that you were one step behind all the Firsts the whole time.” 

Zack regarded him solemnly, his usual carefree charm gone. “Is this about Nibelheim?” 

Cloud had expected to catch Zack off guard with his accusations, but now he felt like the one stumbling. “What?” 

“You survived,” Zack said. “Your girl survived. You should be grateful for that, instead of letting the bitterness eat you alive.” 

Cloud blinked at him. 

“I saw you,” Zack said. “When we were setting the town on fire. You were hiding with a girl under some scrub oak at the edge of the road.” 

“You saw me?” Cloud asked, his heart lurching in his chest. It was a strange feeling, to sit with Zack Fair and realize that the SOLDIER before him had spared his life, all those years ago. 

“Yeah,” Zack said. “I follow orders. But I don’t kill kids.”

“You’re still a monster,” Cloud bit out, but his words lacked conviction. He thought of some of the things he’d done in AVALANCHE’s name, the town of Gongaga dying a slow death without the reactor to bring in energy and income, and wondered if he was really any better. 

“Sure.” Zack shrugged, his smile back. “And now you’re in SOLDIER too. Funny how life happens.” 

It was hard to argue with that, or with Zack’s suggestion that they both get completely shitfaced. 


End file.
